


The Luck of the Edelweiss

by TRASHCAKE



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Familiars, Hinted Abuse, Hinted Cults, Hopeful Ending, If you're confused then good you're supposed to be, M/M, Markhyuck but from Renjun's POV, Missing Persons, Mystery, Non-Linear Narrative, Non-specified historical setting, Star-crossed, Time Skips, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TRASHCAKE/pseuds/TRASHCAKE
Summary: A decade after Donghyuck's disappearance, Chenle and Jisung try and find some answers. It leads them to Renjun, who has secrets to keep and old wounds that haven't healed.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 19
Kudos: 113
Collections: NCT Bigbang Round 1





	The Luck of the Edelweiss

**Author's Note:**

> There is so much more to this story but I thought it would be fun to tell it with the information that Renjun has and not the entire picture. It feels weird to not dive into the worldbuilding for a fic but this mystery element was a lot of fun so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW/CW not in the tags: blood, snakes, insects, non-descriptive child death. Jaemin is an eight eye'd spider boy with a deathwish and I have no idea how to warn for his entire character but he's.... there.

It has not been long since the last Heralding. Barely a week separating the two children offered up to be chosen, but it is something to do amongst the monotony and the monochrome, so Renjun finds himself headed for the town square, anyway. 

His feet are sluggish, the effort of moving almost too much. The people of the village already glance at him warily, their accusing eyes following his every step. He has learnt to ignore them. 

Sicheng has not. 

The carpet python wrapped around his neck tends to hiss and snap— he’s normally an unbothered creature, but as Renjun’s eldest and closest Herald, he’s rather overprotective. 

“Behave,” Renjun says. He feels the forks of his tongue vibrate through the syllables, his words trailing off into a slurred hiss as his Herald heeds his request. Yukhei the tree snake chooses to slither down from his sleeve and onto his palm at the sound of the commotion. “It’s just a Heralding.” 

_Just_ , like the day a child is chosen isn’t something that changes their lives forever. Renjun doesn’t remember when Sicheng first curled around him, that day in the village square. He was only ten days old, but sometimes Sicheng whispers the tale of their first meeting as they curl up together on a sun-warmed stone. 

“ _I was drawn to you_ ,” Sicheng often says. He cannot explain why, nor does he understand the reason behind his unnaturally long life. “ _We all were_.” 

Renjun was chosen by the snakes, as all children are chosen by their Heralds. 

The Heraldings are interesting, seeing what creatures choose a child and how that one moment can shape an entire life. A career born from an animal association, a life enriched by association. 

A doomed existence if the wrong talon or paw comes to rest on that cradle, the dark and wooden bed out in the open square. 

That thing is older than recent memory, designed by the owl Herald whose words and prophecies still dictate the lives of Renjun and the people he lives with. Outdated and warped by time, the owl of old is long dead and yet still he rules. 

Renjun hopes for a new owl to become Heralded, just for the breath of fresh air that it would provide. A new leader, some new ideas. A change to the monotony of lives lived the past hundred years. 

But Renjun knows better than to hope. 

A new owl would be influenced by the owl of old, a cursed cycle doomed for repetition. He wonders if the last owl was the same, and if the lives of the villagers are set on a course of neverending monotony and fear of the unknown. 

It’s thoughts like this that have him branded a heretic, but his work in the village apothecary is enough to keep him from meeting the fate of heretics before him. 

He passes a testament to their eternal damnation and rests a hand over his heart. His skull belongs on a spike alongside them, and he mourns the loss of their brilliant minds. 

Jeno, a Herald of raccoons and Jaemin, the boy chosen by spiders. They flank Renjun’s side wordlessly, their hands resting on their chest as they honour the dead. 

They do not speak. 

It is not safe to. 

The village mills about them, wondering which creature will grace their presence as the sun sets. Last week it was butterflies, the baby girl giggling as the insects landed on her chubby, outstretched fingers. 

She will be beautiful, with a sweet tooth. They foresee her being a welcome addition to the farmers of the village, and Renjun can honestly say he looks forward to working with her first harvest once the time comes and the child grows. 

There is not much to look forward to, so Renjun clings to whatever hope presents itself. 

“Dog,” Jaemin says. Jeno reaches to shake his outstretched hand. “Her parents both have canine Heralds, and yet no one has been chosen by the dogs.” 

“I’ve seen some strays milling about,” Jeno offers. Renjun has seen them too. A surge in an animal population is sure to mean a Heralding, but he feels there are other reasons for the dog’s appearance. 

“People are dying in the streets,” he mentions, casually. He has stepped over more bodies than he can count. At this point he’s become desensitised to it, and it concerns him how little he has come to care. “I see more dogs around the dead than the living.” 

His comment silences his friends. 

They too have seen what has become of the village. 

“You know, this could all have been avoided if we—” 

Renjun and Jeno promptly hush their friend, Renjun’s hiss lingering as his tongue flickers behind his teeth. Jaemin rolls all eight of his eyes at them, but heeds the warning. 

“I prefer your head on your shoulders, Jaemin,” Jeno offers. The bags beneath his eyes look deeper in the waning light. 

“And I feel that death would be a welcome change,” Jaemin laughs hollowly. 

Neither Jeno nor Renjun can find the words to reply. The villagers that mill about them fill the void in conversation with idle chatter, a lighthearted version of their earlier speculation. 

It is so easy to be excited for nothing, when there is nothing worth wasting excitement on. 

Out of habit, Renjun casts his gaze in the direction of the eastern woods. No other villager ever dares to look into the depths of the trees, but Renjun has been drawn to them for nearly a decade.

Almost to the day. 

He spots a figure looming within the treeline and offers the slightest dip of his head in acknowledgement. A regular occurrence, especially when it is time for a Heralding. At his sides, Jeno and Jaemin bear matching, secret smiles. 

The sun sets over the village and with bated breath, they await. 

At the first hoot, they cheer, their feet stomping in an echo of the flapping of wings. Renjun can barely see over the heads of the crowd, but he can hear their cheers, their whispers. 

A brilliant snowy owl coos at the infant in the cot. 

A new age has begun.

\------ 

“Taeil!” Donghyuck cries. He trips as he’s ensnared by the underbrush, coarse twigs and thorned weeds tearing at his pants as he stumbles. “Get back here!” 

The snickering of a fox echoes through the woods as Taeil runs, finding nothing wrong with the dangerous game he plays. 

Foxes are a lucky Herald, or so Donghyuck has been told. The first in over a century, the last of his kind dying before even the great owl was even born. He is called lucky, but his Heralds are nothing but trouble. 

As only a fox would decide that a game of tag in the eastern woods is a lovely idea. 

Doyoung, normally the more stoic of his kind, echoes Taeil’s snickers, running underneath Donghyuck’s feet and tripping him further. Jungwoo, the third and final of Donghyuck’s companions, trots alongside the chaos as if nothing is wrong. 

“Taeil, I’m not joking!” Donghyuck calls out. 

He has already seen a crow. 

The fear instilled within him finds a place in his throat, a lump he cannot swallow and a breath he can’t quite take. 

“ _There is food here_ ,” Doyoung says. He sniffs at the air with interest. “ _Are you not hungry, child_?” 

“I’m starving,” Donghyuck replies. A second crow lands on the branch of a nearby tree. He shudders as it caws, the dark eyes of the cursed bird following him as he stumbles. “But things grown in the eastern woods are poisoned, haven’t you heard the elders?” 

“ _Smells edible to me_ ,” Jungwoo retorts. He sniffs at a berry and Donghyuck leaps between his Herald and the bush, pulling the squirming fox into his arms and frowning at the offending plant. 

“I’m not taking any chances,” he mumbles, holding Jungwoo closer to his chest. “Let’s get Taeil and get out of here.” 

A third crow caws, this time a little louder. Donghyuck flinches, yelps. The creature seems to laugh at him. Placing Jungwoo back onto the ground, Donghyuck extends a shaking finger to the cackling crow. 

“We’re not scared of you,” he lies. 

The bird laughs louder. 

A snapping of twigs puts Donghyuck on guard, the noise startling even Doyoung, whose ears flatten and teeth are bared. They’ve all heard the stories— the cursed crow Herald who lives in the woods, the man whose appearance means certain death. 

“You should be,” rasps a voice from the shadows. 

Donghyuck flinches in fear, waiting for death to come.

\------ 

Renjun enjoys the quiet life. He suns himself on rocks, he works in the backroom of the apothecary. He occasionally meets with his friends at the local tavern, where the haze of alcohol hides their appearance and dulls the fear and uncertainty surrounding their presence. 

Despite calling the village home for near three decades, he hasn’t bothered to learn many names. In fact, he can’t even recall the name of the village itself. He’s sure it has one, that those who pass by have a title for it, for the people who call it home. 

But Renjun has never left, and has no reason to name the place he calls home. 

Chenle and Jisung are new names. They’ve appeared in his periphery over the past few years. They’re similarly aged but far enough apart that the years separate them. Jaemin has mentioned them once or twice, mostly out of concern. 

They’re nearly as old as Renjun, but have yet to outgrow their childlike curiosity, the whispers he has heard has them asking things that should not be told. They search for stories never to be spoken out loud.

Their search will one day lead them to Renjun, and he dreads the day he finds them sat upon his favourite rock with questions that cannot be answered. 

Unlike Jaemin, he prefers his head on his shoulders, and the lingering threads of his compassion have him trying to prevent two fresh skulls to honour as he wanders through town. 

He keeps his head low, avoiding Chenle’s sticky gecko fingers and all-seeing swarms of Jisung’s rats. Renjun tries, he really does, and they soon figure out that there is one place that he can never escape from. 

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” he mumbles. The bell to the apothecary jingles overhead as the two of them step through the threshold. Renjun sighs as he places his pestle onto the counter, signifying to his coworker that he’ll be taking a break. “There’s a nice rock outside, shall we chat there?” 

Sicheng unwraps himself from Renjun’s neck and hisses at the newcomers. “We really need to chat about your behaviour,” he says, running a finger along Sicheng’s snout. “It’s not nice to threaten everyone who gets close to me.” 

“ _They are prey_ ,” Sicheng hisses. Renjun laughs, completely ignoring the confused looks of the men behind him. “ _We should eat them_.” 

“He thinks your Heralds look tasty,” Renjun calls over his shoulder. Jisung whimpers and his rats begin to scurry beneath the hem of his pants. 

“Eating someone’s Herald is punishable by death,” Jisung stutters out.

“So are a lot of things I’ve done.” 

Renjun sighs, settling himself on the rock outside of his work. The midday sun has warmed it so delightfully, the heated surface heaven against his itchy, dry palms. 

At the notice of something warmer than Renjun’s body heat, Sicheng uncurls from his neck and Yukhei manages to slither from his sleeve. Even Dejun, the brown snake in Renjun’s pocket, decides to make an appearance. 

The sight of them visibly startles the two newcomers. Even as equals, as untouchable Heralds, the sight of a predator is disarming. Chenle blinks slowly, the film acting as his eyelids slowly sliding across his eyeball. Transparent, it’s like he hasn’t blinked at all. 

Renjun clears his throat. 

“It means they’re comfortable,” he says, gesturing to the napping snakes. “No harm will come to you, or your Heralds.” 

“But they—” Chenle starts. 

“—Have a dark sense of humour,” Renjun finishes dryly. “You have questions, or so I’m told?” 

“Is your saliva really poisonous?” Jisung asks. He takes a seat in the dirt, fingertips reaching out to touch the skin on Yukhei’s long back. The snake opens an eye, but allows the contact. Jisung relaxes as he traces a finger up and down Yukhei’s spine. 

“Now, who told you that?”

Renjun reclines on the rock, basking in the sunshine. He said he’d hear their questions, not answer them. 

“The same people who say you know what happened to Lee Donghyuck,” Chenle finishes quietly. 

“I haven’t heard that name in nearly a decade,” Renjun says softly. His palms itch. He digs his nails into the rough skin until it draws blood. It still doesn’t ease the sensation, the raw flesh as irritated as the skin torn from it. “And it's a name you know better than to speak aloud.” 

They were there, somewhat. They were just teenagers, then, but they were old enough to know what happened. They’re still old enough to know better. 

Renjun winces at the pain in his hands, draws his nails away to find them stained red. 

“Can you tell us anything?” Jisung pleads. Yukhei, the traitor, seems to be enjoying the touch of this invasive stranger. “Anything at all?” 

“I’ll tell you all I know,” Renjun says. He smiles at the way Jisung and Chenle perk up at his words. 

He leans forwards, beckoning them closer. Renjun has secrets, and they’re soon to be told. 

“Don’t look into it,” he spits, forked tongue curling on a hiss. “Don’t ask questions and don’t you _ever_ dare speak his name again.” 

Sitting back he watches the fear drain from their faces, only to be replaced by disappointment. 

“We just want to know what happened,” Jisung says quietly. Yukhei’s tail curls around his finger. 

Renjun stands, brushing the dirt from his clothes. His break over, the Heralds sunning themselves slither back into position beneath his clothes. 

“No,” Renjun says quietly. Sicheng wraps his tail around the base of his throat. “No, you don’t.”

\------ 

“Don’t do that,” Donghyuck swats at Renjun’s hand. He grabs at Renjun’s fingers and inspects the damage to his palms. They’re as raw as usual, deep cracks and flaking skin, bloodied patches from where his nails have dug too deep. “You’re just hurting yourself.” 

“It’s itchy,” Renjun whines. In the background, Jaemin imitates Renjun down to the lisp and attempts to hiss, while Jeno cackles on in amusement. “I can’t help it, okay?” 

“You’re an _assistant apocrather_ ,” Donghyuck says, “shouldn’t you know how to cure yourself, yet?” 

“It’s incurable, you know that,” Renjun yanks his hand away, making a show of scratching at the deepest of his wounds. “Besides, I’m working on a cure for your existence, first.” 

Jeno and Jaemin absolutely _howl_ in the background, Jeno’s fits of giggles resembling the chattering of his raccoon companions by the end of it. 

Donghyuck knows he’s joking around, in the same way Renjun knows Donghyuck hits him because he cares. They both remember the previous winter, where the harsh cold opened deep cracks in Renjun’s skin, infection taking hold of his wounds. 

He nearly lost his hands. 

Now, he uses them to tackle Donghyuck to the ground. 

“Get off me, you snake bitch,” Donghyuck laughs. Renjun digs peeling fingertips into Donghyuck’s side and listens to him shriek. “Help? Guys?” 

“I think you’ve got it covered,” Jeno snickers. 

Donghyuck yelps in offence, before shoving Renjun off of him. Caught off guard and off balance, Renjun grabs at the front of Donghyuck’s shirt as they roll around in the grass and dirt. 

Two boys laughing in the afternoon sun. 

“Sorry,” Renjun wipes at the front of Donghyuck’s shirt, dark spots of blood staining the white fabric. He’s genuinely apologetic, fiddling with the ties that have undone in the scuffle. “Wait,” Renjun’s fingers brush over something metal hiding within Donghyuck’s shirt. “What’s this?” 

A foreign coin, a shiny stone, an inky black feather. Wrapped in wire and strung on a leather cord, Donghyuck flushes, stuffing the pendant back beneath his shirt. 

Against his heart. 

“It’s nothing,” he says. 

Donghyuck can’t seem to look them in the eye. 

\----- 

No one says a word when Lee Donghyuck disappears.

At least, not in public. 

Renjun is dragged into side streets with knives against his throat, whispered threats that end with Sicheng’s teeth embedded in someone’s flesh. Renjun makes sure to remind every would-be attacker that his snakes aren’t venomous, and that he’s happy to help treat wounds at the apothecary come morning. 

He knows Jeno and Jaemin receive the same treatment. 

It’s only natural to suspect those closest to Donghyuck to have all the answers, when the only conclusions to come to are devastating. 

“I don’t think you’re a jealous murderer, for the record,” Chenle says through a mouth full of crickets. It’s the only food they can seem to agree on. Renjun wonders when they decided to invade his space and stay there. “You’re not the type.” 

“We don’t think the others are, either,” Jisung informs him. They seem to think the conversation is helping. They are, as per usual, misinformed. “You know, for the record.” 

“What record,” Renjun takes another handful of the fried crickets, chewing thoughtfully. One of Jisung’s Heralds noses at Sicheng’s tail. To his credit, he doesn’t snap. “There is no record.” 

“Our record,” Chenle says. He taps his fingers against the tabletop and Renjun watches in fascination as they stick, then slowly peel away with every movement. “We just wanna know what happened.” 

“I told you that I don’t know,” Renjun huffs, “I went to bed, same as everyone else, woke up to his room trashed and Donghyuck gone, same as everyone else.” 

“That’s not all there is to it and you know it.” 

Renjun taps Sicheng’s nose before he even thinks to hiss. 

“There’s more to everything,” Chenle shrugs. “They say the eastern woods are a wasteland, but I saw someone in them the other day.” 

“No one’s brave enough to enter those woods,” Jisung says, scandalised. Renjun extracts himself from the conversation, instead offering his finger to the bravest of Jisung’s Heralds to sniff. 

He hasn’t bothered to learn their names, but the little rat crawls onto Renjun’s hand and snuggles himself into his palm. He seems completely unaware of, or rather unbothered by the rough skin he finds there. 

Rats. 

They’ll find comfort in anything. 

Renjun gently scratches at the top of his head and behind his ears, pointedly ignoring the conversation that continues despite him. 

A person living in the eastern woods. 

Who would have thought.

\------ 

Donghyuck’s feet carry him along a familiar path, underbrush worn down from his travels. His Heralds yip and giggle beneath his feet, their enthusiasm contagious. 

He can’t help the smile on his face, nor the joy bursting through his chest. Like butterflies, a flurry of emotion that he can’t name. He bows his head, pushing his legs harder as he sprints towards his goal. 

Who knew there was such beauty hidden within fear— a meadow of edelweiss in the middle of a cursed forest. 

Of course there are crows here. 

Murders line the branches, cackling and cawing. 

Donghyuck waves to them, calls out greetings to those he’s begun to recognise by name. 

“Is he here, Johnny?” Donghyuck calls out. He knows this crow due to its size, and the fact that his feathers shine slightly more purple in the light. “Mark, is he around?” 

Johnny caws, ruffling his feathers. His call brings his fellow crows to attention, and they take flight in unison. 

It’s a beautiful sight. 

Taeil yips as he speeds ahead, following the flight of crows through the forest. 

They lead Donghyuck and his Heralds to the clearing, swarming towards the centre with delighted calls and in a flurry of feathers. 

Donghyuck pulls one from his hair with a laugh.

The flock clears to reveal a lone figure, standing in the clearing. His eyes are as dark as his companions, shining like stars in the night sky. The small, downy feathers of his nape ruffle under the commotion, his hair a mess from the incessant preening of his crows. 

“There you are,” Donghyuck breathes.

This time when he runs, it’s into awaiting arms.

\------ 

“You are the cure,” someone whispers into Donghyuck’s ear. 

It’s supposed to be calming. 

It is anything but. 

“The great owl foretold this,” someone else says, “why do you struggle against your destiny?” 

“It hurts,” Donghyuck whimpers. The knife against his arm digs deeper, and Donghyuck feels lightheaded, woozy. “Please, you’ve taken too much.” 

“There are many sick people.”

Donghyuck couldn’t make out the faces of his tormentors, even if he tried. They’re masked, cloaked. He has a feeling as to their identities, but stays silent when he meets them in the daylight. 

He cries out when one of their boots strikes a snarling Doyoung, the pain of his Herald shooting up his side. 

“He’s just trying to help,” Donghyuck begs. He struggles against the hold on him, weak and desperate. “He doesn’t understand.” 

“Neither do you.”

Donghyuck yelps as he’s struck, tears forming unbidden as he blinks through the pain. 

“This is your purpose.”

He was sent to them. A gift. A streak of colour within the monotone. The light, the luck, the _cure_. 

Those ailing find strength through him. Those suffering are eased through his pain. He does this for the village, for those who need him. 

(Renjun’s master hands him a bottle of dark red liquid. His stomach churns.)

\------  
The announcement of a new owl Herald brings back the kind of life to the village that Renjun hasn’t seen in years. It’s not colour, not the familiar tufts of orange hair that he once associated with hope, but it’s something. 

Even Jeno and Jaemin seem to feel it. Renjun sees his friends smile at strangers for the first time in a decade. It’s a shock to everyone’s system, the change that needs to happen. 

Renjun allows himself a moment of hope. 

“This new kid,” Jaemin says. He gestures to the infant Herald as her proud parents show her off. “You think she’ll be as great as everyone thinks?”

From a nearby tree, her snowy owl watches. Renjun doesn’t understand the expressions of birds, never has. Too much animosity between owl and snake, he supposes it’s one of the reasons why he never appreciated the great owl and his teaching. 

But this new owl seems softer, kinder. She watches over the child with something Renjun assumes is pride, her feathers puffed and fluttering in the breeze. 

“I hope she’s better,” Jeno says. He has a faraway look on his face. To an outsider, he looks contemplative. Renjun knows Jeno, understands exactly how he’s feeling. “I hope _they’re_ better.” 

“You know they won’t be,” Jaemin sighs. His smile falls as the other proverbial shoe drops. 

Time is an endless circle, and they’ve just started a new loop. 

“Probably not,” Renjun says. 

A crowd forms around the owl Herald, blocking her from sight. 

In the distance, a lone crow cries.

\------ 

No one quite remembers when the Heralds showed up. It is just assumed that they’ve always been around— animal fractions of an incomplete soul, dedicating their unnaturally long lives to the humans they follow. 

Renjun wonders if the sharing of physical traits is new, or if it is something else that has just always been. The younger generation look more like their Heralds than ever before— forked tongues and peeling skin, sharp nails and extra eyes. 

Even Donghyuck looks increasingly more fox-like as time goes on, whiskers sprouting from his cheeks and his hair growing into tufts that resemble the ears of the foxes that follow him around. 

Renjun stands with Jeno and Jaemin as the villagers flock around their friend. 

Somehow, somewhere, a spattering of Edelweiss has begun to grow. The desolate lands surrounding the village aren’t known for flowers, and the small crop of the plant has been dubbed a miracle. 

He has watched villagers cradle around the patch, sobbing. They have never seen flowers before. They have never experienced such beauty, new life in the overwhelming bleakness of their surroundings. 

The small white flowers are immediately harvested, torn from their plant and leaving only the grey leaves behind. They’re woven immediately into Donghyuck’s hair, because no one else is more fitting of decoration than their light, their luck. 

Donghyuck’s very presence is what caused the flowers to grow, say the villagers, a small crop of plants appearing overnight near the entrance to the eastern woods. 

For once, Donghyuck doesn’t shy away from the attention. He beams proudly as the flowers are woven into his hair, checks his reflection in every mirrored surface, brings a hand to his head every now and again, just to touch the petals that rest there. 

“You’re happy,” Jaemin notes. They’ve finally managed to catch Donghyuck alone. The petals in his hair are wilting, but still beautiful. Renjun hopes that more begin to sprout from the damaged plants. 

“I am,” Donghyuck says. 

He clutches as his chest, absentmindedly. 

His hand curls around something hidden beneath his shirt.

\------ 

Renjun absentmindedly plays with the coin around his neck. Jaemin wears the feather around his own, Jeno becomes the proud owner of a shiny rock, the type of which are only found high in the mountains. 

None of the villagers know of their necklaces, their prized possessions kept hidden from sight and mind. They would just offer more questions, more suspicion if they were ever seen by prying eyes. 

They were a gift. 

He strokes the coin as he watches the excited villagers pass the new owl Herald around. Her parents, fond as ever, don’t mind the attention and the commotion. Renjun frowns as he spots the snowy owl in flight above the crowd, shrieking in anguish. 

She’s distressed. Either sensing the discomfort of her Herald or summoning that emotion on her own, Renjun can’t quite tell. He can hear the cries of the baby as she’s passed from stranger to stranger. 

Jeno and Jaemin stand on the opposite side of the crowd.

Sometimes, when the mass of bodies shift, Renjun can see the frowns on their faces and how they mirror his own. 

“Have you seen her?” Jisung says quietly. He nudges Renjun’s side. One of Jisung’s rats has made a nest in his hair, and even the small creature stands to gain a better look at the child. “She’s a cutie.” 

“I haven’t, no,” Renjun drawls. He doesn’t mention that the crowds around her are almost too thick to catch a proper glance. He doesn’t ask how Jisung has managed to get close enough to see her. 

“They say she’ll lead us,” Chenle adds, excitedly. 

Renjun doesn’t comment. 

History is repeating itself. 

It’s amusing, he thinks, that two people so intent on unearthing the past are so intent on repeating it. 

Without a word, he releases the hold on his coin. 

Renjun walks away.

\----- 

“Please, young fox...” 

Donghyuck flinches as someone collides with him, collapsing at his feet. An elderly lady peers up at him. She is unimaginably old. 

She is dying. 

Her hands shake as she reaches for the hem of Donghyuck’s jacket. He is alone, flanked only by his Heralds. They know better than to attack the villagers, but he can feel their fear and unease through their bond. 

“What can I do for you?” he asks, softly. He places a hand onto her thin, matted hair, stroking it as she begins to sob. 

“An eyelash,” she rasps. Donghyuck notices the small family of birds living in her hood. They look as old as she does. “I cannot afford anything else, so perhaps a single eyelash will cure me?” 

“You wish for one of my eyelashes?” 

Donghyuck makes the mistake of bending down, lowering his face to her level. Clawed fingers grip the side of his face, the nails digging in and drawing blood. The pain is sharp, she drags her talons through flesh as she readjusts her grip.

“I am losing my sight,” she rasps. Clawed fingers come uncomfortably close to Donghyuck’s eyeball. 

He closes his eyes, flinches away, whimpers in pain as the talons in his cheek drive deeper. 

“I will take yours.” 

She takes not one eyelash, but several. It stings but Donghyuck can barely feel it under the rest of the pain she has caused. 

The old woman sobs as she rubs the fine hairs between her blood-stained fingertips. 

Donghyuck feels nothing as she brings them to her mouth. 

“Have a nice day, ma’am,” he mumbles. 

He leaves the sobbing woman in the alley, his exit followed by the harrowing cries of a woman claimed to be healed.

\------ 

Eyes, so many eyes. 

They’re everywhere, constantly on him. Never blinking, always watching. 

Someone has begun watching over him as he sleeps. A hand runs through his hair as he dozes, whispers to him. The voice tells him how lucky he is, how precious he is. 

How good is he for doing his duty. 

Donghyuck asks Renjun to spit into a vial for him. 

In the night, an elder passes away from what seems to be a heart attack. 

Renjun says nothing.

\------ 

It is a strange sight to see a raccoon, a snake and a spider, curled together on the tabletop of the local tavern. 

A strange sight that loses all peculiarity with the frequency of which it happens. 

The three of them together— Renjun, Jaemin and Jeno. It’s not something the villagers enjoy seeing. It reminds them of decades past and old suspicions that have yet to fade. 

But under the haze of alcohol and dim lighting, they’re free. Just a group of old friends basking in each other’s company, huddled away at the tavern’s dimly lit corner table.

There are three of them. 

There were once four. 

Donghyuck’s absence is noticeable. Even now, they leave a seat spare for him. 

Of course, they’re on the receiving end of wary glances and misdirected scorn. They are not the only ones who miss Donghyuck’s presence and sometimes the alcohol loosens lips enough for villagers to comment on it. 

For the most part, however, they’re ignored. 

It’s what Renjun wants. 

“You think they’re still scared of us?” Jaemin comments. An elderly man sneers at him as he passes by, and Jaemin returns the favour. “I haven’t been called a murderer for a while.” 

“We’re still called that, and many other things,” Jeno replies, taking a sip of his mead. “But the novelty of saying it to our faces has worn off.” 

“We’d be as dead as Donghyuck if we weren’t useful,” Renjun sighs. A healer, a weaver, a carpenter. The village hates to admit it, but they _need_ the outcasts they’ve grown to shun. “More heads on a spike with no one left to salute them.” 

“Donghyuck isn’t dead,” is all Jeno has to say. It’s a mantra he clings to, a fact he won’t dispute and hasn’t in nearly ten years. 

“To them, he is,” Jaemin gestures to the crowded tavern, a group of people who avoid their table like it's diseased. 

“He was a lot of things to them,” says Renjun. Placing his pint down on the table, he sighs. “And I don’t think he was truly any of them by the end.” 

“This new girl,” Jeno says. The conversation around them is loud, borderline incomprehensible. They all know what is spoken about, anyway. “You think they’ll do to her what they did to—” 

“—most likely,” Renjun cuts him off. “I’ve already had requests at work.” 

Both Jeno and Jaemin look away. 

“What do you think would have happened,” Jaemin finally says. He speaks so quietly that Renjun has to strain in order to hear him. “If Donghyuck was still around, what would have happened to him, do you think?” 

Jeno places a hand over his heart. 

His friends join him.

\------ 

Donghyuck reclines in a field of Edelweiss, the plants providing cushioning from the hard ground beneath him. Mark sits beside him, fiddling with petals. Bashfully, he picks one of the flowers, sliding it into Donghyuck’s hair with a small smile. 

Returning the gesture, Donghyuck picks two of the small, white blossoms, and nestles them gently into Mark’s unruly head of dark, black hair. It’s a stunning contrast— the stark white against the shimmering black, the red that flushes across Mark’s cheeks. 

“When they spoke about you in the village,” Donghyuck says, “they called you Minhyung.” 

“Crows can’t say my birth name,” he says, fiddling with the shiny trinkets that adorn his wrists. “So they gave me a new one.” 

“Mark is your crow name?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. His Heralds have been able to say his name just fine. But maybe crows are different. 

It might be why they’re feared. 

“I prefer it to my real name,” he says. Boldly, he reaches across, laces their fingers together. “I’m the crow herald, this is my crow name. It’s who I am.” 

“It suits you,” Donghyuck says simply. 

Mark kisses him. 

It’s the happiest he’s ever been.

\------- 

_Crows are thieves. Do not trust them. Cast them out. Crows are not your friends._

\-------

There is another Heralding. 

With new hope comes old fears and the village is ripe with gossip. 

Crows circle the skies as of late, more than usual. The fearful villagers flinch at each caw, bring up a name that Renjun has long since thought forgotten.

If someone is born a crow Herald, they are cast out into the eastern woods, the parents who bore them joining the heretics that Renjun salutes. There is no crime more unforgivable than to be a crow. 

The hatred stems from the great owl. Renjun wonders, and not for the first time, just what a crow did to him to breed such animosity. Knowing what he does of the former leader, a crow most likely bested him at something, and the jealous old owl cast a decree that has cost many people their lives. 

A crow has been born in his lifetime. Somewhat. A year before Renjun’s Heralding, a boy named Minhyung was chosen by the crows. The story of him is shrouded in mystery, as his terrified parents grabbed the screaming child and ran. 

Their escape into the eastern woods is somewhat of an urban legend. Those who dare cast their gaze in the direction of the woods have reported seeing figures amongst the trees— tall tales elongated by constant retelling and with the addition of fear, no one truly knows who, or what lives amongst the cursed ground. 

The people fear that the new Herald will be a crow and Renjun’s fears align. Not because he loathes the crow, not in the way they do. But because he fears what is to become of the child if the crows are drawn to him. 

Renjun thinks they’ve ignored the draw of the Heralding. They’re smart birds, and surely they’ve figured out what happens to those they deem worthy. The crows of the eastern woods are a constant, watching presence. One that knows how unwelcome it is, and thus heeds the warning. 

Crows have not touched the village since the arrival of Minhyung. That is a fact. Whether or not there is a reason behind it, no one can truly tell. 

The new Herald meets his companions during an anticlimactic sunset, wherein one of the stray dogs Renjun has seen milling about pushes his wet nose against the child’s open palm. 

“I told you a dog Herald was coming,” Jaemin preens. 

A murder of crows circles overhead.

\------ 

“C’mon, I want you to meet Mark,” Donghyuck grabs Renjun’s wrist with one hand, and Jaemin’s with another. His Heralds snap and yip at Jeno’s ankles, rounding him up and placing him in line. 

They’re all excited, and the emotion is contagious until Renjun sees where they’re going. 

“The eastern woods?” he hisses. Donghyuck all but skips ahead of them, dragging his friends through a freshly worn path in the underbrush. 

“It’s not that bad, I promise,” Donghyuck replies. He waves at a crow. Jeno screams. 

“We could be _killed_ ,” he says, eyes darting around, nervously. “You don’t know what they’ll do to us.” 

“The crows are harmless.” 

To punctuate Donghyuck’s point, one lands on his shoulder. His name is Taeyong, and he seems to be elated at the stroking touch of Donghyuck’s finger across his beak. 

“I’m more scared of the elders, rather than the crows,” Jaemin supplies. He still eyes Taeyong warily, jumping as the bird caws. “Heads on spikes for all of us, and I don’t think they’ll care how lucky Donghyuck is when they do it.”

“I never believed in luck,” Donghyuck says. He knows his way through the forest. Renjun can tell he’s been here often, that the path they follow is one worn by his boots. “Not until I met him.” 

“Him?” Renjun asks. Donghyuck offers him a small, secret smile. His free hand grips at the pendant beneath his shirt. 

“Him,” Donghyuck affirms as he leads the group into the clearing. 

Within a field of flowers stands a boy and his crows. 

“Everyone, meet Minhyung.”

\------ 

Renjun is there when it happens. 

A repeat in history, a pitstop in the loop of time. 

He has a penchant for experiencing tragedy, a habit that has him secretly believe that the snake Heralds are the cursed ones, after all. Not much shakes him, not anymore. Feeling is a luxury he can no longer afford, but for a single moment, he can feel his heart ache. 

The hysteric, clumsy hands of the crowd carry the new owl away from her family. They fall over themselves and each other in a frenzy, desperately trying to hold the chosen child in their hands. Raised high above the crowd, she screams and cries as she is passed from person to person. 

Her beautiful snowy owl screeches in distress, swooping to attack those who try to lay hands on her Herald. 

Even her attention-loving parents seem concerned, screaming for the crowd to return their child, and oh, please do it safely.

Renjun can see the commotion. He can hear the screams of the child. He hears it all, and then nothing. Silence. 

The pained shriek of a snowy owl. 

It joins in harmony with the child’s mother, whose mournful cries are heard above all else, echoing through the sudden silence of the village. 

The new era has ended before it even began. 

Even the crows stay silent. 

Renjun thinks it out of respect.

\------

If anyone sees Renjun place a basket by the entrance of the eastern woods, they do not speak of it. 

The first line of trees bears a marker— scratches in the bark, ones made long ago. No one looks at the eastern woods often enough to notice the scratches, nor their appearance. 

There is a letter atop the basket. No name, nothing identifying. 

The recipient knows it’s for them, anyway. 

Flanked in silence by Jeno and Jaemin, Renjun places the basket at the foot of the scarred tree. 

“Look after him,” he says. Jeno and Jaemin place a hand on either side of his shoulder. 

There is a rustling in the underbrush that catches their attention.

They know better than to look back as they walk away.

\------ 

Donghyuck runs. 

There are footsteps behind him, ringing out along pavement in the dark. They call for him, they chase him, endlessly. 

He is their cure. 

A great sickness has come upon them, it takes without mercy. Donghyuck is immune, they say. Donghyuck is the cure. 

His life for the lives of the villagers. 

That has always been his fate. 

He is thankful for his friends— Renjun, Jeno and Jaemin. They throw themselves into the throng of people desperately clawing for him. They take blows and wounds intended for him, they spill their blood in exchange for his. 

So obsessed by the disobedience, the mob is distracted. Their eyes are off him for the first time in what seems like his entire life. 

He has an opportunity for freedom.

And so Donghyuck takes it. 

His friends are consumed by the mob. He can still hear their cries. 

Donghyuck does what he does best. 

He runs.

\------

Daylight rises on a mourning village.

Lee Donghyuck’s room is destroyed, his possessions covered in blood. 

He is nowhere to be found. 

The luck has left them.

\------ 

A shy gecko and rat edge closer to the pile of Heralds. They’re napping together beside the fire, one that warms the rocky area that Renjun calls home. He wonders how Chenle and Jisung became part of their group, whether their combined presence fills a gap long left or if they’ve created new space for themselves. 

Jaemin seems happier since they came around. 

He hasn’t mentioned losing his head in just over a month. 

The bonfire of Jeno’s suggestion casts shadows along the ground. They dance, seemingly telling a story that no one understands. 

One of them looks like a crow. 

Renjun believes that some stories are best left untold. 

“You don’t fear the woods,” Jisung says. He notices Renjun’s gaze on the entrance to them. Unlike the Jisung of years past, his gaze doesn’t waver. He has learnt without being told. 

“I don’t believe there’s anything to fear,” Renjun replies, honestly. It’s the most he’ll ever say about what happened that fateful night, even if it barely pertains to it at all. 

“I know you know what happened to him,” Chenle pipes up. He snacks on some sort of insect with feigned disinterest. “You all do, not just Renjun.” 

With a collective sigh, they nod in unison. Renjun itches at his palms until they bleed, but says nothing more. 

“It’s not our story to tell,” Jeno doesn’t look at them, but instead towards the entrance to the woods. 

A crow and a fox play at the foot of a damaged tree. 

Renjun stops itching for a moment. 

He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Discuss conspiracy theories about this fic with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/texaschansaws)


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